


The Coward and the Fool

by Diary



Category: J. Edgar (2011)
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Milkshakes, POV Clyde Tolson, Period Typical Attitudes, Resolved Romantic Tension, Romance, Self-Reflection, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Set after the hotel fight. In which Clyde has an innate inability to leave things unfinished, it's not Helen's job to chase after resigning agents in her slippers, and in his desperation, Edgar is more honest than usual. Complete.
Relationships: J. Edgar Hoover/Clyde Tolson
Kudos: 2





	The Coward and the Fool

There was a time when Clyde wondered if there might be a secret affair between Director Hoover and Miss Grady.

It wasn’t his business. He’d meant what he said about having no interest in a long-term career at the Bureau; it was fortunate a man such as the director hired him, and he hoped to one day receive a glowing recommendation, but if he didn’t- well, everyone knew how ill-tempered Director Hoover could be. A scathing denouncement from him likely wouldn’t do too much damage.

When Miss Grady first showed him to his desk, she said, “Director Hoover demands excellence from his employees. However, I want to personally assure you, Mister Tolson, he will never pressure you to show your loyalty in ways that would go against your dignity or personal moral boundaries.”

He realises now he hadn’t understood what she was truly saying. The Bureau did certain things the general public would object to, and he’d assumed she was telling him he could simply be one of the agents outside of Director Hoover’s inner circle who did his job, a perfectly legal, respectable job that wouldn’t put him in real danger if those in higher offices ever decided to directly attack the Bureau with scrutiny.

Edgar’s busy today, possibly avoiding him, possibly simply genuinely busy, and he packs his desk before typing up his resignation. He and Edgar hadn’t had breakfast together this morning, but Edgar had stopped to pick him up, and they’d rode to work together. If taking a company vehicle home isn’t an option, he’ll simply walk down to a nearby phone booth to call a cab; certainly, if he called a cab to the building, Edgar would make an embarrassing fuss.

Once the letter is typed and signed, he goes to Miss Grady’s office, and seeing her there, he manages to keep his sigh in.

“Agent Tolson,” she greets. “Director Hoover is on a telephone call with his niece. Is there something I can help you with?”

He’s not proud of his urge to slam the paper down, and then, turn heel. It’s not her fault Edgar is Edgar, it’s not her fault he’s the pathetic fool he is, and it’s really not her fault his resolve to leave the letter and quietly slip away like a coward has been thwarted by her being here rather than glued a few feet from Edgar as she typically is.

“I have a letter for Mister Hoover. Please, don’t interrupt his conversation.”

At her nod, he places the letter face-down on her desk, and trying to walk away quickly without it looking as if he’s obviously doing so (he likely fails, he knows), he heads back to get his belongings.

Once he’s outside, he takes a conscious breath.

It doesn’t do anything to help his painful stomach-ache, but some of the tightness in his muscles does relax.

You can still go back, part of him thinks. You can get the letter back and-

No, he tells himself, and he takes a step.

Another, he orders himself.

Soon, he’s walking properly.

Edgar wouldn’t have liked him anyways in another life. He had dreams once of being a lawyer who fought for the underdog or who brought down corrupt people in power. If he’d defended someone Edgar targeted or did something as foolhardy as try to take down the Director of the Bureau of Investigations, then, Edgar would have hated him, would have opened up a file on him, and likely, at some point, would have tried to destroy him via blackmail. If that didn’t work, then, Edgar would’ve simply made good on his threat.

The best thing would have been: They never met. He followed his dreams without ever attracting the attention of one John Edgar Hoover.

There’s no changing the past, however.

“Mister Tolson!”

Managing to catch himself before he drops his box, he turns to see Miss Grady outright running towards him, but thankfully, she does have on a pair of- slippers?

Though he’s dreadfully curious, his primary feeling is relief she isn’t wearing her heels.

Setting his box down, he waits.

“Miss Grady. Don’t tell me he sent you like this.”

“No.” She has her purse with her, he sees, and he watches as she withdraws her heels.

He offers his arm, and placing a hand on it, she switches the slippers for the heels. “Whenever we work very late, Mister Hoover allows me to change into my slippers.”

Some response would be good, he knows, but he has none.

“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to read your letter or not, but I did,” she tells him plainly. “I’ve put it somewhere Edgar won’t see it for the moment. I’d like to discuss it with you. Perhaps, you could buy me a milkshake?”

“The honest truth is, I forgot my wallet at home this morning. I doubt he’d terminate my employment over that, but I would certainly get an earful.”

“Then, if you’d allow me to buy you a milkshake, we could discuss-”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Miss Grady. I signed no contract stipulating a minimum amount of time. I am sorry if my leaving will make your job harder, but- well, you’ll manage. He made the right decision in choosing you.”

And I made the wrong decision in choosing him, is on the tip of his tongue, but- Get it together, he orders himself.

She’s probably already made lunch reservations for them. For all Edgar does try not to yell at her, there is a high chance Edgar will yell at her and everyone else for the next day or so. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take for Edgar to choose another number two man, but once Edgar does, even if she likes this man, approves of the choice, there will be a period of adjustment for her.

“I’m awfully thirsty after all that running.” Her hand returns to his arm. “If you’d be so kind as to escort me to that ice-cream parlour a few blocks down the road?”

He doesn’t manage to keep his sigh in. “There’s no point, Miss Grady. I’m done. If there’s something you absolutely must say, then, say it here and now.”

There’s silence, and then, her voice is unnervingly quiet when she asks, “Was I wrong in the assurances I gave you when you first took this job?”

It takes a moment to understand what she’s referring to.

“No. Director Hoover has always been a consummate professional.”

Anger floods him. Even this, Edgar has to end up with the upper hand.

The kiss could be used against him. As much as he hopes Edgar will, at least, have some decency in this one matter, there’s no guarantee. He kissed his male boss, one of the most powerful men in the world, and aside from the fact Edgar has no proof of it, he has no defence. He did.

Edgar’s fingers wrapped around his hand, Edgar’s fingers interlocked through his, the soft, beautiful look in Edgar’s eyes that made him feel alternatively more special than he ever had and utterly disposable, _I need you_ , _I’d have it no other way_ , he’d sound a bigger fool than he is if he tried to explain.

“I don’t understand. He values you in the highest esteem, Mister Tolson. If you’re unhappy with some aspect of your employment-”

Looking at her, he finds himself wondering, Do you love him? Are you doing this, because, you want to prevent unhappiness in your friend? Or is this because, sometimes, I managed to restrain him from doing unwise things, things that might affect the Bureau itself, that I’ve occasionally helped you do so?

“I’m not a consummate professional, Miss Grady. Your boss has done nothing to shame himself or this Bureau, but in Del Mar, I did. I hope he’ll be content to accept my resignation, but if he isn’t- I won’t ask you to do anything on my behalf. For all you’ve always treated me with the upmost respect, I know you have personal loyalty to him beyond the Bureau.”

Her look of pity is unbearable, and he starts to remove his arm from her grasp.

Moving it herself, he finds she’s interlocked her fingers with his. “Let’s get a drink, Mister Tolson. We could both use one.”

He means to protest, but he’s just so tired. The sooner he gives in, to the drink, at least, hopefully, the sooner she’ll leave him be.

…

Getting milkshakes, they take them to a nearby park.

“He made an overture once.”

Looking over, he sees she’s intently concentrating on her shake.

“I did consider it. I knew it’d guarantee me financial security. I knew he’d never stray. And I knew I could have an amicable relationship with his mother. But,” she looks over, “I didn’t lie when I gave him my reasons for rejecting his overture: I want to focus on my career. I don’t want to be a wife nor a mother. I want to make my own money, spend or save it how I think best, and answer to no one but my conscience and the laws of the land.”

“My feelings for him aside, I’m glad you did,” he lets himself say.

“I understand you might have- certain physical desires, Mister Tolson. And he might not be able to fulfil them, but what he feels for you is stronger than-”

“It’s not about that,” he finds himself interrupting.

Or not entirely, at least, but explaining this- almost everything is telling him to leave now. He’s already said too much.

“He might marry soon, Miss Grady.”

Based on her expression, there’s a possibility she truly doesn’t know about Miss Lamour or, at least, not how serious Edgar has become towards her.

“Miss Dorothy Lamour. He’s been having dinner with her. They’ve become physical.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for the milkshake, Miss Grady.”

Her hand clasps back around his arm. “I don’t know you on a personal level, Mister Tolson. Not the way I know him. I can understand why a person would refuse to be the other person to someone married. If that’s truly what this is about, then, I won’t continue trying to change your mind. But I must ask, is it?”

No, damn Edgar, damn himself, it’s not.

“There’s a chance he won’t marry,” she continues.

“If a baby is made, nothing would stop him.”

He wishes, as much as it would hurt, he could think Edgar would be a good father. He wishes he could find some happiness in the thought of Edgar’s children being in this world.

In truth, however, Edgar likely wouldn’t be a good father. He’d either be overbearing or emotionally neglectful, and as much as he’d feel love towards precious, innocent children sharing Edgar’s blood, he fears how unhappy, how lost, how like Edgar, they might turn out. He feels terrible for Edgar’s niece having Mrs Hoover for a grandmother; nothing he’s seen or heard has led him to believe she’s much better with her than she is with Edgar.

Of course, she’s never liked him, but this is fair enough. Her icy politeness has made it clear she’ll tolerate his employment as well as Edgar’s friendship with him so long as-

He thinks he could make Edgar truly happy. He thinks, if he were allowed to properly touch Edgar, if Edgar would properly touch him, if he could sleep beside Edgar at night-

Then again, he knows this is likely the same foolish, wishful thinking that got him to this low point in his life. Edgar wants a world where people like him don’t even exist. Edgar wants a world where men don’t feel anything like Edgar himself might secretly feel.

“There are physical intimacies that carry no risk of conception,” Miss Grady delicately says. “And there’s a possibility that- well, we both know he occasionally says things that others aren’t wrong in disputing.”

He finds himself bluntly replying, “You mean he lies. Yes, we both know that.”

Leaning back on the bench, he finds his stomach threatening to empty itself of the barely consumed milkshake.

“I was a fool, Miss Grady. He asked if I wanted him to be half a person, incomplete. And that- it was the last straw. No, he never said anything explicit, he never did anything unambiguous in deed, but the way he looked at me, the way he did touch me, all the things he said, it never felt like mere friendship.”

He looks down at his own shake. “I’m highly unlikely to ever marry, either, Miss Grady. However, if I were to court a woman, if she believed certain physical acts were to be reserved solely for marriage, I wouldn’t try to convince her to go against this. I’d simply court her, and either we’d marry someday or we wouldn’t.”

“I haven’t been with another person in certain ways since before I joined the Bureau. For all I wanted more, I was content with the close friendship we had. But then- he made me no promises. I didn’t make him any promises, either, not explicitly. Acknowledging all this doesn’t make it hurt less. I believed I had no option to find someone else, because, I believed he wouldn’t.”

He hadn’t considered Edgar might be lying, but it doesn’t matter. The idea is there now: Someone else might touch Edgar in ways he’s not allowed to. Someone might experience Edgar’s touches that have been denied to him.

Having said so much condemning words already, he feels compelled to finish, “I told him I loved him. I knew there was a possibility he’d choose to treat it as a simple declaration of our friendship, and I would have accepted that. I hoped it might open the door for he and I becoming more than friends. What I got was him saying another had been touching him, he’d been touching another, that the sense of completion he’s always bestowed on me hasn’t been returned.”

“I told him he lost all right to ever tell me what to do again. He begged me not to leave. I told him, if he ever mentioned another lady friend, it’d be the last time he shared my company. Whether he does or doesn’t, however, I’ve been made a fool, and I can’t change that, but I can take steps to stop being one.”

She presses her shoulder against him, and it feels nicer than he would have thought.

“I think I’d rather be a fool than a coward,” she declares.

As much as he doesn’t want to break contact, he has to move to look more fully at her.

“I’ve never been in love, Mister Tolson. But I’ve seen people who are, read plenty of books focusing on people who are, seen pictures featuring them, and I’ve never really understood why so many make it such a complicated thing. I suppose, in some cases, there’s a danger, but Edgar Hoover does things that put him in danger of severe consequences if anyone were to discover what he’s up to nearly every day of his life.”

She sighs. “If you love someone, you ought to tell them. Either they’ll love you back, or they won’t. He simply can’t be other than what his mother wants. Even if he can’t fully be that.”

“I’m glad someone else can see him clearly,” he says.

“I shredded the letter.”

Coldness goes through him.

“There are many things I’m willing to do to protect him, Mister Tolson, but then, there are things he needs to face the consequences of doing. Or not doing, I suppose. I’m not ever going to chase someone down in my slippers again for his sake. I understand if you think you’ve been brave enough, but either you face him directly or we’ll see what, if anything, he does when I tell him you just up and left.”

“I’m finishing my milkshake, first,” he finds himself saying.

“That sounds good.”

…

He could retype the letter and give it directly to Edgar. He knows, if he tried simply leaving it on Edgar’s desk, there’s a good chance Miss Grady would manage to shred it unseen, and he’s not going to go through the time and expense of mailing it to Edgar’s home.

He could just leave Miss Grady to tell Edgar that he’s gone and there’s no letter or anything to explain why; frankly, part of him thinks she deserves to be in such a position, one she herself is responsible for.

Unfortunately, he has an innate instinct for seeing things finished.

He wishes Edgar had fired him in that hotel room. He wishes Miss Grady hadn’t surprisingly been at her desk when he set the letter on it. It hadn’t hinted at the real reason, he wasn’t anywhere close to suicidal, but it had been enough: Though I wish to pursue other opportunities, allow me to express my gratitude for this opportunity you’ve extended, there’s no need to pay me any amount of money for the day this letter was typed.

There’s a possibility, he’s forced to acknowledge, in his own way, he’s just as much as a coward as he’d deemed Edgar.

Soon enough, he’s having lunch with Edgar, and due to both the milkshake and the oppressive silence, he doesn’t finish his meal.

Once they’re back at the Bureau, as they’re walking around, Edgar says, “Clyde-”

“I won’t be able to meet you for dinner tonight.”

Edgar outright gapes, and of course, Edgar’s soulful, mournful eyes take any comedy he could take from the situation away.

He remembers the day he came in for the interview. He’d been treated to the sight of Edgar exercising, and then, Edgar was nervous. Defensive. Not having much hope for the job, he was, perhaps, a bit teasing, but at one point, Edgar had looked at him with piercing eyes, and he’d known the irritable, handsome man wouldn’t fumble when it came to manipulating the future of their country.

“That was one of your conditions. Your only one, in fact. Lunch and dinner every day. We didn’t have breakfast together this morning.”

Striving to keep his tone neutral, he says, “Conditions can change.”

“Why? Do you have plans with someone else?”

So many replies swirl in his head, but he settles for the simple truth of, “No.”

Edgar’s jaw twitches.

“I hope you believe me to be an honourable man,” he finds himself saying. Seeing how startled Edgar is at the words, he continues, “For as long as I have this job, I will do my best to fulfil all my duties competently and without complaint. If I must work through lunch or make do with a quick supper in order to finish my duties, I will. However, with respect, Mister Hoover, this is all you have the right to ask of me.”

The hurt in Edgar’s eyes are worse than the anger would be. He half-expects Edgar to fire him here and now, but something inside tells him it won’t happen.

“Of course, Mister Tolson,” is the shaky reply.

He’s so used to trying to soothe these moods that he almost starts to, but managing to stop himself, he indulges in his irritation instead.

Miss Grady rejected Edgar’s overture, but he highly doubts Edgar ever confessed his love to another. Was rejected. What right does Edgar have to sound so shaky and miserable?

Turning heel, Edgar practically storms off.

…

At the end of the day, Miss Grady helps him put his coat on.

“Goodnight, Miss Grady. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Giving him what might be a sympathetic look, she nods.

And so, he goes home. He has dinner, he takes a shower, he turns on the radio, and he tries to do a crossword puzzle.

There have been times he’s read the news before Edgar could, and he’s gotten Edgar absorbed in a crossword puzzle. Of course, this was always a temporary measure, and he’s sure by now Edgar has realised the tactic he was employing, but-

Why, he wonders in frustration, can’t I stop thinking of him?

He considers reading, but every time he considers a book, he thinks of what Edgar thinks or might think of it.

There’s a knock on the door, and looking out the window, he sees Edgar’s personal vehicle sitting outside.

When he opens the door, Edgar simply barges in. “I’m not going to marry.”

Shutting the door, he takes Edgar’s coat. “That’s no longer my concern. Have you eaten? Would you like something to drink?”

Edgar scowls.

“It’s late, Edgar. Is you marrying or not marrying going to significantly affect my job in some form? And if so, couldn’t we discuss this during business hours?”

“Us, Clyde. I want to fix us.”

“We’re not broken, Edgar. Neither of us.”

He knows, eventually, people such as him won’t be. Evolution and psychology are linked, he believes. In this modern world where everything is being filed away about people, people must either marry someone of the opposite-sex or not have children. Of course, there will be some women who have illegitimate children, but if those children are raised in a two-parent household, psychology will usually play a part.

Eventually, evolution is going to start producing much, much fewer people like him.

What he wants is criminal, and he struggles with the question of how God feels about him, but he’s not broken.

“Our friendship, Clyde.”

Curse Edgar for looking teary.

“I thought our relationship was deeper than friendship. And I think you knew I was under that impression. I can see you’re about to start your blustering. Don’t, Edgar. You came here at this hour after I assured you I would do my job professionally and to the best of my ability. I meant that.”

“Clyde, I don’t know what to say. What I can say.”

“You’re free to say whatever you want. If you didn’t know, genuinely didn’t know, then, I’ve made a fool of myself, and I only have myself to blame. But if not-” He has to take a breath. “You broke my heart. You should have either said something long ago, or you shouldn’t have- I was angry, but if you want to talk about a lady friend, go ahead. If you don’t, don’t. You’re still my boss, but beyond my job, you have no right to tell me what to do, how to feel.”

“Are you planning to leave? Find another job?”

“If a good opportunity arises, I’ll certainly consider it.”

Just fire me, goes through his head. End this once and all for both of us.

It strikes him: Cowards don’t get their hearts broken, but they can break the hearts of others.

Fools, though, they often end up getting their hearts broken and rarely break the hearts of others.

“You’re so very important to me, Clyde.”

He believed that, once.

“And you were important to me, too, but I won’t keep being a fool. I offered you everything, everything I could possibly give, and you struck at me. Not the punch, I goaded you into that, but worse.”

Suddenly, Edgar is clutching at him. “Please, Clyde. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, please, I’m sorry, Clyde-”

And he recognises the fact Edgar is about to kiss him, but even beyond the fact Edgar is full out sobbing, he doesn’t want anyone to ever feel as if they need to kiss him or bestow any other sort of physical affection upon him.

Manoeuvring Edgar slightly away, he says, “We need to clean your face, and I’ll get you some water. Come on. We can finish this conversation after you’ve gathered yourself.”

…

After Edgar stops crying, they end up sitting on his sofa.

“You were right,” Edgar quietly says. “I knew. I felt it, too. But I was scared. I can’t be- What can I do to make things right, Clyde? More than anything, I want you.”

He almost says, _I wouldn’t have believed that even before the hotel room._

Edgar Hoover wants many things. Personally, he wants to be everything his mother desires in a son. Professionally, he wants Presidents to metaphorically bow down to him and to eliminate certain ideas and attitudes in the American people.

Once upon a time, he would have opposed everything Edgar stood for, but once upon a time, he hadn’t spent hours talking to the most fascinating man he’d ever met, hadn’t made him smile, hadn’t soothed his anger and fears and frustration, hadn’t felt his heart beat too fast just from truly innocent touches.

“If you can’t be, then, you can’t be. I am, and you knew it, and you didn’t say anything. It would have hurt, but if you’d just made things clear, Edgar, we still could have remained good friends. Now, I still have great respect for you professionally, but you can’t expect me to still have warm feelings towards you. To trust you with my feelings again.”

“You and Miss Grady disappeared this morning.”

Feeling off-balance, he nevertheless feels his voice is even enough when saying, “Yes, we took a brief break from our work to have a private conversation.”

“She was watching you all day.”

“I can’t speak to that one way or another. I didn’t notice her doing so.”

“But you’re not surprised.”

He suddenly has a terrible headache. “You sound as if you believe me guilty of something. If there’s an accusation to be made, make it, Edgar.”

Warm fingers link through his, and he has to close his eyes.

“You and her are the only people I don’t lie to, Clyde. I- I’m not as honest with my own mother. It’s because, sometimes, lies are necessary. But with you and her, they’re not. I was scared and- I was the fool, not you. Please, believe me, however, when I say that, if you’ll attempt to rebuild your trust in me, I won’t be again.”

A finger strokes over his hand, and this is cheating.

“You know we both might need to go to dinner with women on occasion, but you’ll always know about it. I’ll never do anything with women that I couldn’t give detailed accounts of to my niece or a respectable clergyman. I’ll remain a bachelor until the day I die.”

He wants to protest.

Edgar won’t willingly say ‘I love you’. He’s not sure never again being physical with another is a commitment he himself is willing to make; back in the hotel, he had truly hoped there would be more if he said the words.

There are men who might be able and willing to offer him so much more, and whether Edgar is like him or just happens to return his feelings but still has a genuine desire for women, Edgar might truly be better off finding some woman to marry.

His fool of a heart is refusing to let these sensible thoughts stay for long. No other man is Edgar. And while physicality would certainly be nice, forgoing it isn’t too big of a sacrifice to make for someone you genuinely love, he believes.

The anger’s gone, he realises. There’s still hurt, but he imagines, if Edgar keeps his word, it’ll fade in time.

You know he will, a voice in his head says.

He squeezes the hand. “We’ll go back to the original condition. Lunch and dinner every day.”

“Yes. Thank you, Clyde,” Edgar breathes out.

“I believe you, Edgar, but let me make it clear: If I’m wrong to do so, you’ll never get another chance. If you want to get married, I need to find a different job. And if you ever become physical with someone else, don’t let me find out. There are going to be times there are rumours, and I’m not going to ask if they’re true or not. Don’t tell me if they are.”

“They won’t be. Clyde, I swear to you-”

“It’s late. You can take the bed for the night. I don’t have eggs; if you want them for breakfast, you’ll need to set the alarm for early enough that you can get home.”

He half-expects Edgar to protest, but he’s glad when Edgar doesn’t.

“That sounds good. Thank you.”

…

He’s getting a sheet for the couch when he hears, “Clyde?”

Turning, he sucks in a breath before he can stop himself.

Edgar’s only wearing bottom underwear, and the logical part of him is neutral (Edgar has no sleepwear with him, none of his remotely fit Edgar, and it wouldn’t be very comfortable to sleep in the everyday clothes Edgar came here in), but the rest of him is- not neutral.

This is how Edgar has led him to the bedroom without him realising Edgar was.

“Edgar-”

“I’m not having you give up your bed for me, Clyde. Either you and I can sleep here, or I’ll sleep on the couch.” Edgar looks at him authoritatively, and it strikes him no other man could look so decisive and unmovable in nothing but his underwear. “There’s no other choices, Clyde.”

Finding himself nodding, he gets the light, and when he slips into bed, there’s some awkwardness, it’s been a long time since he’s shared a bed with another either platonically or otherwise, but part of it feels so right, so freeing in a way he couldn’t properly verbalise if he tried.

“Goodnight, Edgar.”

“Goodnight, Clyde,” is the soft response.

…

In the morning, he wakes to find he’s rolled onto his stomach and slung an arm over Edgar.

It makes him feel warm and soft in his chest and stomach in addition to incredibly grateful the somewhat discomforting feeling of his arousal pressing against the sheets can’t be seen.

Some men, likely women, too, have made an art of slipping out of bed without disturbing any bedmates.

He has never been, and likely, never will be, one of these men.

His arm moves a bit as he’s pondering this, and suddenly, he can _feel_ Edgar waking up.

When Edgar looks over with sleep-filled eyes and a soft, gentle smile, God, he’s never in his life wanted more to kiss Edgar.

“Good morning,” Edgar says.

“Good morning.”

The alarm goes off, and carefully shifting to turn it off, he can’t resist adjusting one of Edgar’s curls when he turns back towards him. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in such a long time,” Edgar says, and there’s no dishonesty, no politeness, no attempts at charm or flattery he can detect in Edgar’s tone or relaxed stance.

“It’s the same for me,” he says. “Go take a shower, and I’ll make breakfast.”

Edgar grabs his hand. “We can’t do this often. But maybe, on vacations, we could. We’d have to get adjoining suites like always, but my bed is bigger, and usually, someone leaves extra pillows.”

Yes, he knows this. Unknowingly, Edgar either charms or uneases hotel maids, and there’s almost always extra pillows, extra mints, and beautifully fresh, sharp smelling flowers. He’d tried pointing this out to Edgar once, but it’d been clear Edgar had paid little attention to these extras, and Edgar had said it might have been the hotel manager who instructed this to be done.

He doubts it. Hotel managers, when they want to charm or placate a guest, they tend to do big things, give big luxuries, not these little, thoughtful extras that maids bestow on those they either like, feel sorry for, or desperately want to try to keep in a good mood.

More than this, he recognises the underpinning: If they go to bed together, sleep in the same bed, it’s likely Edgar isn’t incredibly skilled at getting out of and into bed without waking a bedmate, either; therefore, he’ll have a high certainty Edgar isn’t doing anything in someone else’s bed.

“We’ll see. For now, go take your shower.”

Edgar sits up, and even with the sheet still covering Edgar’s lower half, he can tell, with almost painful hotness going through his body, Edgar is aroused, too.

“We could- together?”

He sees the vulnerability, the uncertainty, in Edgar’s eyes, remembers the fact Edgar was clearly going to kiss him last night, and- part of him is practical. With the kiss he planted after hitting Edgar, with the fact they’ve slept in bed together, if Edgar wants to destroy him, Edgar can, and if he gives even more reason for Edgar to decide to, it’ll be even worse.

The other part of him has simply always tried to protect Edgar whenever Edgar shows such vulnerability and uncertainty. Even when he can’t resist teasing, he’s always tried to make sure it didn’t cross the line into meanness.

“Go take your shower, Edgar. I’ve told you what you have to do in order to keep my friendship. If you do, in time, I’ll fully forgive you. For now, I’m going to make you breakfast, and when we have lunch later today, you can buy. We’ll split the bill as usual at dinner.”

Giving a grateful, almost unbearably soft look, Edgar nods.

…

After they go to Edgar’s house in order for Edgar to change, they go into work together, and Miss Grady smiles more brightly than normal at them before her face slips back into a mask of polite pleasantness. “I’m glad you’re both here. Sir,” she hands them both a file but is looking at Edgar, “there’s a kidnapping case, and the mother wants to speak to you personally. She’s in your office. A Mrs…”

In the office, as he reads, Edgar gently clasps the woman’s hand. “Mrs Thompson, I’m Director Hoover, and this is Associate Director Agent Tolson. I assure you, we’re going to do everything possible to find…”


End file.
